


Let Me Kill You Sweetheart

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Crack, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Language, M/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto gets a case of 'flu that forces him to explore the way that he interacts with life, all very much against his will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Kill You Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Many months ago, [](http://space-monkey52.livejournal.com/profile)[**space_monkey52**](http://space-monkey52.livejournal.com/) was looking in [](http://community.livejournal.com/twgenrefinders/profile)[**twgenrefinders**](http://community.livejournal.com/twgenrefinders/) for h/c in which Ianto was injured or sick and the team and/or Jack protected or looked out for him in some way. Her prompt gave me a bunny that bit hard. This was meant to be short and sweet, but turned into a tome of over 9,000 words that takes place after _Reset_ and before _Exit Wounds_.
> 
> Huge thanks to my husband for the overall beta, and to [](http://temporal-witch.livejournal.com/profile)[**temporal_witch**](http://temporal-witch.livejournal.com/) for help on firearms issues.

 

The sneeze was of such epic proportions that it ricocheted nearly simultaneously off the tower, the hot-house walls, the cog door and the boardroom, out of phase enough to make the workstation computer screens ripple and shake and threaten to crash to the floor.

It drew curses from Owen, a startled yelp from Gwen, and Jack from his office, but Tosh zeroed in on the source immediately, fixing Ianto with a deadly glare. "Would you mind doing that outside?" she said, through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," croaked Ianto. "Captain's orders. I'm confined to the Hub."

"Twenty-four hour observation," said Jack. "Gotta make sure this is just a common cold, not—"

"Oh, god," muttered everyone else.

"Baljaxian 'flu," crowed Jack.

"You just had to say it, didn't you?" said Owen.

"For the twenty-seventh time," muttered Gwen.

"What's the point of being dead if I can still hear it?"

"At least you can't get whatever he's got," said Tosh, as she made sure that her workstation was still intact.

"Jack, why am I not in a vault, if this 'flu's as bad as you say it is?"

"Because the air filtration system hasn't been properly repaired, yet," said Gwen, glaring at Jack.

Ianto winced as Jack's face lost some of its light. He made his way toward his Captain. "I could lock myself in the sub-sub-basement," he offered, gratified that his voice was steady even though the thought terrified him.

"No, mate," said Owen. "Whatever this is, we've all been exposed by now."

"Besides," said Tosh, "If you do develop it, Owen should be able to develop the cure from your blood."

"Yeah, that's right," said Owen. "I'll only need a pint or two of it." He clapped Ianto on the shoulder.

"And in the meantime, I have to stay here so that I don't risk infecting Rhys," said Gwen, scowling.

"I'm sorry, Gwen," said Ianto, feeling an order of magnitude worse than he had just a few minutes ago and choosing to hide it in a wave of guilt.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's not your fault you got sneezed on by a space lizard," said Gwen, rubbing her eyes and Ianto's arm. "It's just I haven't seen Rhys in—"

"Ten sodding days," chorused Owen, Jack and Tosh.

Gwen waved her hand and nodded her head. "And I really wanted—"

"To be at his birthday party when he got back," said Ianto, burying his physical misery in a show of sympathy.

"I suppose I have gone on a bit about it, haven't I?" said Gwen, looking around at everyone else.

"Oh, not too much," said Owen, dripping with sarcasm as Jack ducked through them to stand next to Ianto.

Ianto was just about to succumb to the temptation to lean against Jack's shoulder—or the water tower—when the Rift alarm went off.

"Rift spike in Llandaff," said Tosh. "Cardiff Road..." She zoomed in on an office building that seemed to be crawling with rocks, one of which deployed a spray of eyestalks that moved independently, clearly assessing the environment.

_Nothing unusual there,_ thought Ianto until all seven stalks swivelled around to look directly at the camera Tosh had 'borrowed' and seemed to fix themselves on each member of the team. Ianto had just convinced himself that it was an illusion when Myfanwy flew by his shoulder and one of the stalks tracked her movement perfectly.

Like lightning, Jack leapt forward and slammed into the power button on Tosh's workstation. "Turn them off! Turn them all off!"

Ianto raced as best he could for his own workstation and had it switched off even as Owen and Gwen did theirs. "Jack," he croaked, as loudly as he could, "your office!"

Jack raced up the stairs and disappeared into his office.

The crash came two seconds after he went through the door, just as Ianto had expected. He noted the differences between Tosh and Gwen as they winced, and Owen stifling his flinch.

"Owen! Class One first-aid kit plus galactic anti-venom and two boxes of syringes. Better get the big bottle. Gwen, Ianto, smoke grenades, vests and guns, the bigger, the better. Nothing electric! Tosh—"

"Stealth sensors, got 'em," she said, very carefully placing the last of them in the padded case and closing the lid.

Jack nodded and gave her a brief grin as everyone started to scatter.

Ianto started to go after Gwen, wondering why she was disappearing so fast while his feet felt so heavy and muddy. And then there was a hand on his shoulder and a comforting breath on his cheek, making him realise just how cold his skin felt.

"I'll trade with you," said Jack, softly. "Retcon," he said, before Ianto had time to protest, "the big bottle, and go turn off the satnav and all other connections to the outside world. Sit in the passenger seat and get whatever rest you can, cause I need your aim." He squeezed Ianto's shoulder and ran after Gwen.

The journey was a quick and interminable haze of discomfort to four of Ianto's six senses. The other two seemed to be in hiding. (He still found himself a bit dismayed to be accepting the idea that his sense of time was a 'sixth sense', but he found it easier to do that than to argue the point with Jack.) Pretty soon, he reckoned, his hearing would also try for a holiday, so he listened through the haze to Jack explaining that when dealing with the Cherubs ("You have to be joking!" Owen had quipped), who differed from other optiliths in their levels of venom, intelligence, malice and speed, it was vital to keep in mind that they could use electrical impulses over a certain strength as a sort of spyglass.

"They look like [lithops](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithops)," said Tosh.

"Yeah, only if you see something like a bud emerging between segments, shoot them a lot! You want to kill the Cherubs without hitting the venom sac or letting it mature, which it does in about ten seconds."

"And you say, 'shoot them a lot'," said Ianto, instantly regretting the physical effort.

"Okay, shoot them a lot _carefully_! Happy now?"

Ianto just settled back as best he could and managed his misery while the others snorted. He thought he caught a glimpse of a glance from Jack as his last eye closed, and wondered why it felt so natural to have three of them, all of a sudden.

When Jack woke him up, Ianto's first thought was _Why are those rocks smiling at me?_ His second was _Why is my gun shooting them by itself?_ His third was _Oh._

"Ianto!" shouted Jack, as though from a long distance away.

Ianto opened his fourth eye and blinked it at Jack, who was standing directly behind him exactly twelve and a half feet away. "Why am I standing up?" he asked aloud.

"You're out of ammo."

"I'm standing up because I'm out of ammo?"

"It's complicated," said Jack. "Catch!"

Ianto saw the box coming at him perfectly well. What didn't work quite so well was extending his hands to catch it. "Why are my hands on backwards?" he asked, his fourth eye blinking down at the box on the floor.

"That's more complicated. Turn around and use them the way they're facing now." Jack shot ten of the rocks in quick succession.

Really very quick, thought Ianto, even considering the pocketful of speed-loaders Jack had hoarded for this outing. Or had one or two bullets just gone through lots of Cherubs? He rolled all of his eyes and did as Jack suggested, wondering at how dizzy he felt as he saw everything around him. Everything, that is, except the rock that had climbed up his legs without his noticing it until he sneezed on it rather painfully.

The first thing that followed was that Ianto saw bullets raining from his fingers. The second was that he saw, with sickening clarity and synchronisation, that each team member's face was being enveloped by an optilith.

He wasn't sure what laid him out, in the end. Having eyes present in each ear was an interesting new experience, as was that of seeing poison sacs of various colours emerging simultaneously over each of his friends' heads. He had to admit, though, that watching Gwen and Owen fall as two bullets from his thumbs hit the creatures attached to their faces was a bit much, and might well have been the moment that he "...sort of decided to pass out," as Jack would undoubtedly quip for the foreseeable future. And just why was he hearing this narrative within his mind as he was meant to be fainting?

* * *

Ianto was – _bump_ – lying on – _bump!_ – something – _bumpBUMP!_ – hard and – bu-bump-bu-bump! – fucking slippery and – _bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-BUMPcrunch-bump!_ – a vise of some sort prevented him from – _bumpity-bump-bu-bump!_ – falling all the way off – **_BUMP!_** – "Ow!" (Gwen) – the edge – "Owen, mind the bodies!" (Jack) – of the car seat.

"Bit hard when there's fucking millions of 'em!" (Owen)

"Jack, are you sure we don't have to clean them up?"

Tosh's words had Ianto sitting bolt upright before she could finish her question mark. "I'm-alright-I-can-do-it," he said before clutching his head and moaning a syllable even he couldn't understand.

"Definitely Baljaxian 'flu," said Jack with a chuckle, sounding strangely distant as a large, heavy hook crash-landed across the back of Ianto's shoulders. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Ianto blinked and tried to see digits. Then he registered that the hook had lifted from his shoulders and was hovering behind where his back eye was – had been – should be. Hovering behind his head. The hook – Jack's hand... Plonker! "Not funny," he muttered.

Jack snickered beside him. "Good! That means phase two-A is over."

"Phase two A?" asked Gwen.

"The part where you can see through your head in all directions at the same time." Jack shuddered. "I hated that bit."

"What's phase two-B?" asked Ianto, as the noise of Tosh's breathing became unbearable, even through the din of platelets coursing through the capillaries in Jack's right ear.

"Sensitivity to sound," said Jack in an ear-splitting murmur. "Time to take a nap."

The rush of fluid thundering through the needle Jack shoved into his arm far outstripped the pain of clumsy injection technique, and Ianto slipped into unconsciousness to the deafening lullaby of banter, breathing and crooning from Jack and Gwen.

* * *

"I can smell Owen's eyelashes," moaned Ianto before he allowed himself to become conscious. He didn't open his eyes.

"Good," said Jack, extremely quietly.

"What's wrong?" Ianto dropped his voice to a murmur and snapped his eyes open. "Are we under attack? Where's my gun?"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! We're not under attack." Jack's voice sounded normal. Relieved, even.

"Then what's wrong? Why were you being so quiet? And your gun needs cleaning. Ugh!" Ianto grimaced, trying to close his nose without fingers.

"So your ears don't hurt when I talk normally?"

"Well, no more than usual." Ianto grimaced. "Seriously, Jack, your Webley. It's minging." He tried to lick the smell off his lips. "Oh, god!"

"What?" said Jack, barely containing his amusement.

Ianto flicked his tongue twice between his lips.

"Do you know how incredibly erotic it is when you do that?"

"Do you know how incredibly disgusting it is when I can taste a rancid biscuit under the autopsy table?" He glared in Owen's general direction.

"Thankfully, no, especially since Owen hasn't been able to eat for – how many weeks?" Jack forestalled Ianto's answer with a look and a hand. "Anyway, it's time to take this." Jack held out a vial of fluorescent puce liquid.

"Got this on a night out in Splott, did you?" said Ianto.

"Very funny. Now just take it!"

Ianto rolled his eyes and prepared to swallow it down as Jack's hand slammed down on his arm. He just barely held on to the vial and glared at Jack.

"Not by mouth."

Ianto looked at the vial again, taking in for the first time its unusual shape, and felt his face twist into a succession of expressions as the various methods of delivery flitted through his mind in high gear. When he reached the inevitable, rather ghastly conclusion, he aimed what he hoped was a murderous look at Jack.

"Through the nose," said Jack.

Ianto eyed the vial. "Looks more like a deodorant."

Jack nodded. "The Barl have very big nares."

Ianto felt his eyes widen. "Do they smell like old horseshoes?" he asked, holding the now-vile vial at Jack, accusingly.

Jack's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ianto glared at him, and considered shoving the vial up—

Jack gave it away with a laugh. "It hasn't been used, Ianto. Go on. Just one quick sniff and you won't smell my Webley anymore."

"Small mercies," muttered Ianto. "One up each nostril, is it?"

"Just—"

Ianto pressed the blunt end to his right nostril and sniffed as Jack started to talk. And felt his brain try to leap out of his head through both ears as his heart did its best to teleport to the shelter of Owen's bogging eyelashes.

"No. Just one nostril will be fine." Jack took the vial back from Ianto's twitching fingers.

Ianto tried to issue the no-sex-or-coffee-for-a-year threat that he'd spent six months forcing himself to perfect, but all that came out was a sort of squeak to go along with the tears pouring down his face.

"Give it a minute," said Jack, doing his best to soak up the tears with a large, fluffy towel. "It gets better."

Ianto gasped and clutched at Jack's chest and braces—both in one hand, wishing that Jack had chest hair that would hurt as he tore it out in the fistful of Jack's shirts clenched in his fingers—and spewed tears, wishing he could _aim_ the bloody things right at Jack and _infect_ him with the Bal-fucking-jaxian 'flu that made him doubt he'd ever have a normal sensation or thought again, and that he wouldn't have bloody caught in the first place if it hadn't been for bloody Torchwood and fucking Jack.

At some point, his heart slowed and thought that maybe it wasn't too keen on getting cosy with Owen's eyelashes after all, and that perhaps it should keep its digs in Ianto's chest. At which point his brain decided that maybe the tatty old sofa wasn't a very friendly place for a frightened olfactory bulb, and that perhaps it should give Ianto's skull a second chance.

And then he realised that his hand was clenched hard on Jack's right pectoral muscle, and that Jack's face looked a bit funny, which might have something to do with the fact that his thumbnail was digging deeply into Jack's nipple.

He let go in horror. "Sorry," he managed, though his voice sounded as though it belonged to a schoolgirl.

Jack flopped back against the sofa, panting in relief. "It's okay," he gasped. "Least I could do after you killed all the Cherubs."

"I did what?"

"You sneezed all over them," said Owen.

"Well, you sneezed on one of them," said Tosh.

"And by the time we got out of there, the others had all caught it and died," said Owen. "Well, mostly. A couple of them were still twitching, but we ran them over."

"Sounds messy," mumbled Ianto.

"Not really," said Tosh. "They sort of cleaned themselves up after they died."

"Too bad we can't bottle that," said Ianto, a bit distracted by the feel of Jack's fingers resting on his shoulder.

"You also saved everyone on the team," said Jack, stroking Ianto's shoulder and down his arm.

Ianto sought Jack's eyes and frowned. "I did?"

"Never saw anyone shoot that fast in all my life," said Owen. "Or death, for that matter."

"Never mind fast," said Tosh, a brilliant smile spreading across her face. "Talk about pinpoint accuracy!"

"Yeah, you were brilliant!" said Gwen. "Shot a Cherub right in the eyestalk without even grazing Owen's scalp, and then killed the one that was about to eat Tosh."

"Without even turning around," added Owen.

"Or hitting the poison sac," said Tosh, breathless with admiration. "Thanks! I really like this dress."

Ianto blinked and looked to Jack.

"Basically, you shot a few of those things off each of our heads, and we all lived."

"Was that when I had bullets coming out of my fingers?"

Jack rubbed a hand over Ianto's shoulder blades. "Yup."

Ianto nodded. "More control that way." He looked at Jack again and felt his spirit fall. "This isn't going to end well, is it?"

"You do have kind of a bad case," said Jack, giving Ianto's neck an affectionate squeeze with a distinctly experimental touch.

Ianto hissed, cried out and clamped himself to Jack, all at the same time.

"Hypersensitivity to touch," said Jack against Ianto's ear.

Ianto shivered and pressed his cheek to Jack's. "Your clothes hurt," he said through clenched teeth.

"Want me to take 'em off?"

Ianto wasn't quite unconscious of his hand making its way under Jack's collar, especially when he got a sort of faraway sense that the groan he heard sounded a lot like what he remembered of his own voice. He also had the gloomy thought that he would probably be mortified as soon as he could think about something other than Jack's skin.

"Hyper sexuality, more like," said Owen, "which would be my cue to leave."

"Jealous?" joked Jack.

"If you must know, yeah. Although if that were a woman hanging off you like that, it'd be worse and I'd have to kill you. Several times."

Ianto curled his face around Jack's neck and jaw, thinking that he heard a familiar voice saying, "Mmm" just as his lips happened to vibrate.

"Take us with you," begged Gwen at Owen.

"Awww," said Tosh, with an audible smile.

"You two have to stay here, remember?" said Owen. "Quarantine."

"Well, so do you, then," said Gwen.

"Nah. I'm dead, remember? No breath. Can't spread anything."

"The virus remains alive and active outside the body for forty-eight hours," said Jack.

"Yeah, well, it's not as if I'm going to touch anything," said Owen.

Ianto heard his voice say, "God, Jack, you have such perfect skin!" as he realised that he was nuzzling Jack's cheek.

"Especially now," added Owen, with a grimace Ianto could hear.

"Well he does," said Tosh, her voice huskier than normal. Ianto could feel her staring.

"You're all stayin' here," said Jack, arms wrapping carefully around Ianto and – oh! – gorgeous lips brushing his jaw with every sound. "Go ... work on the antivirus or something. Get Rhys to leave food outside the tourist office. Just – ah! – Ianto and I aren't available, right now."

"Oh," whimpered Tosh.

"Come on, Tosh," said Owen and Gwen.

At another time, Ianto might have winked and smirked at Tosh as the others pulled her away, but all he could do now was delve for Jack's warmth and skin.

"Ianto..." Jack shivered as Ianto lapped at a pulse point behind his right ear. "Shouldn't we—"

"Oi! Twenty-first century, Harkness! Go shag where we can't see you!"

"—Go to my place?"

"Don't think I can let go," said Ianto.

"I know." Jack cupped the back of Ianto's head and kissed his cheek, softly. "But the sofa—"

"Like knives," said Ianto, trying to crawl off of it and into Jack's lap and wincing when his trousers bit him all the way up and down his legs. "I used to like this suit," he mourned.

"Come on," said Jack, easing Ianto away and rising.

Ianto mustered himself to tolerate the pain of having his shoulder reset and rose, grimacing as his shirt started to file away at his skin. "Don't suppose you've got silk sheets hiding somewhere?"

Jack shook his head. "Too harsh against the skin for this stage." He held out his hand. "Still like the way I feel?"

Ianto took Jack's hand and tried not to moan. "God, yes," he failed.

The floor made the sandpaper of his socks stab like nails driven home by a blacksmith. He walked rhythmically to know when to expect the pain.

The rungs of the ladder down to Jack's hole acted like ice against his hands and seemed to break his feet. He counted the steps to know when he would be destroyed.

The heat of Jack's hands steadying him on the way down burnt through the iron filings of his shirt, making him feel like a sex-crazed piece of ore in the smelting pot. He didn't realize that he was whimpering until he felt Jack's perfect, _soft_ lips against his cheek.

"I'm so sorry," said Jack, his voice filled with gentleness and concern and oh, so beautiful against Ianto's skin.

"Not your fault," groaned Ianto, pressing his cheek to Jack's perfect, _smooth_ face.

"Let's get you out of those clothes," said Jack, and for the first time since the aftermath of Brynblaidd, there wasn't a trace of lust in his voice at the suggestion.

The memory of being tenderised by the cannibals there flitted through Ianto's mind and his body decided to flinch just as Jack started to unbutton his shirt.

Jack's hands flew back and up. "I'm sorry," he said.

Ianto shook his head, and then winced as he felt his brain shift inside its case. "Bloody virus," he managed, lifting his hands ever so slowly to steady his head. "Shouldn't have shaken my head." He looked at Jack. "Not you."

Something in his expression must have communicated his fervent desire to feel as much of Jack's skin and as little of anything else as possible against his body because, somehow, Jack managed to strip them both in record time in a delicious flurry of careful hands, warm skin and soft words encouraging him to concentrate on here and now and _Jack_...

...Who was kissing him towards the bed and easing him down to sit on – Egyptian cotton sheets with a thread count of at least twelve hundred that cooled and soothed his skin and made his burgeoning erection lengthen and twitch in exquisite pain. The moan he heard from his own mouth made him even harder, mortifying him as Jack removed his shoes and socks for him.

"You're incredibly sexy like this," said Jack, with a kiss to the top of Ianto's thigh.

Ianto moaned (of his own volition, this time) and arched.

Jack pressed his face against Ianto's leg. "Oh, god, I really wish we could do this."

"If we don't, I may kill you," gasped Ianto, twining his fingers in Jack's hair.

"How do the sheets feel?"

"Like raw silk," said Ianto, shifting enough to grab Jack's hand and attach it to his cock, "which always makes me hard."

"So I see," said Jack. "But we really shouldn't do this."

"Why not?" said Ianto, throbbing into Jack's hand.

"Because," said Jack, pressing another kiss to Ianto's leg, "it'll end in tears."

Ianto snorted. "Passed that stage earlier, didn't I?"

Jack shook his head. "Not the same," he said, ruefully.

"Well," scoffed Ianto, "I can take it if you can."

Jack looked up at him, eyes clouded with desire and something that looked too much like sadness for Ianto to manage in the throes of such delicious sensation.

"I'm going to come just from your hand on me," moaned Ianto.

"I'm not even moving," said Jack, with a smirk that made Ianto want to kill him and kiss him, all at the same time.

"Wasn't that my point?" gasped Ianto as his cock throbbed just _so_, fitting itself to every crease, pulse and skin cell in Jack's huge, _warm_ hand. "Jack!"

Jack shook his head. "I tried. I really tried." And with that, he grasped Ianto's hip with his free hand – just enough to control without being hard enough to hurt, even in this most hypersensitive state, Ianto noted – and engulfed the head of Ianto's cock in hot, moist heaven.

Ianto writhed in tormented bliss, thrusting into a tongue that felt like sandpaper before Jack could give him a warning hum – _velvet!_ – and push oh-so-gently on his hip. "Oh, God!"

Jack savoured Ianto's cock with slow precision – lips more than tongue, yielding heat more than friction – none of the usual, tantalizing brush of teeth.

Ianto whimpered at that loss.

Jack took him slightly deeper and hummed in sympathy before pulling back to trace the sensitive ridge with his tongue.

Ianto arched hard into the heat of wet sunlight. "Jesus, Jack! Please, I—"

Jack took a deep breath and took him slowly, deeply into his throat.

Time braked to a crawl as Ianto noticed _everything_: the yielding encouragement of Jack's cupped tongue and soft palate drawing him down, the careful undulation of Jack's epiglottis as it closed to let him through, the vertebrae and ridges of tracheal cartilage that he shouldn't be able to feel, but could just for today through slick, smooth sheathing. His senses told him to relish that peculiar intimacy. His brain tried to leap away from it, screaming, _Too much information!_ although his brain also told him quite smugly that he was having these experiences because he really was exceptionally long.

And then Jack hummed Ianto's brain into oblivion and he came, the base of his cock tightening to the point of exquisite pain and the tip tickling so hard he couldn't sort whether to laugh or groan. He heard himself curse, the 'F' tickling his lips almost as badly, and the 'ck!' feeling like the click and wind of a door closing in reverse.

Jack held Ianto steady, swallowing as gently and carefully as Ianto could imagine possible as wave upon wave of orgasm threatened to drown him. When at last it was over, which Ianto both welcomed and mourned, Jack released him with great care.

"Sorry," said Ianto. "Didn't mean for that to happen so soon."

"It's all right," said Jack, panting, his voice a bit hoarse after his exertions. "Do I look like I minded?" His eyes flicked down, pointedly.

Ianto followed the gaze to see Jack's cock bobbing hopefully. "Give me a minute—"

"No need," said Jack, regaining his own breath and smiling a little.

"You sure? Hardly seems fair to leave you like that."

"I'll take a rain check," said Jack, reaching for one of the small cloths on his nightstand. "This'll make you feel a bit more comfortable."

Ianto moaned as Jack cleaned him with the cloth, wondering at its soft comfort in his overly stimulated state. "Ohhh! That feels ... _so_ good!"

"Little thing a nurse gave me back when I had what you've got," said Jack. "Psychic cloth. Gives the person being touched the sensation they most need."

"Sounds like something for a future date," said Ianto, lying back and budging over as Jack crawled up to lie next to him.

"I'd been saving them for a special occasion," said Jack, wistfully, reaching for the water on the nightstand.

And then the afterglow hit Ianto with the power of an oncoming train. "God, I love you!"

Jack froze for just a second in mid-quaff before finishing his drink.

Curling in towards Jack, Ianto thought he could feel something in the air change – perhaps the ionic charge. It would be in keeping with his observation that he could feel some variations of thickness in the weft threads of the sheets. "I really do, you know," he said, kissing the smooth shoulder under his mouth and draping an arm over Jack's belly. "It's not just the sex talking."

Jack put the glass down and turned slowly towards Ianto, his face soft and sad. "I know," he said quietly. He drew Ianto into his arms. "I know," he repeated, his voice going a bit peculiar as he rested his chin on Ianto's shoulder.

Ianto kissed Jack's cheek with a tenderness he'd never allowed himself to express. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," said Jack, as though he were struggling with something. "You?"

"Never better," said Ianto, with a deep sense that he meant it to his marrow. He stroked the wisps of Jack's hair off the smooth brow they covered and looked deep into eyes he hadn't allowed himself to know this well. "You seem so sad." He caressed Jack's face.

Jack swallowed and kissed Ianto's palm. "I'm okay," he managed. "Just...."

"What, sweetheart?" Ianto almost looked down at his mouth when that word escaped it.

Jack winced into a grin. "You are _so_ gonna hate yourself in the morning!"

"Yeah," said Ianto. But he couldn't help smiling at Jack's face, nor could he stem the flood of emotion that inundated him. "I love your smile." He kissed it softly, shivering at the feel of Jack's smooth teeth against his lips.

Jack's eyes brightened with moisture as his smile softened and he traced Ianto's mouth gently with his fingers. "Yours isn't so bad, either."

Ianto kissed the pads of Jack's fingertips, caressing Jack's gorgeous, _soft_ lips with his own fingers before making a wordless sound and kissing them. Kissing _Jack_ with all his being, and feeling a surge as Jack returned kiss and emotion in full measure.

And then life unfolded, holding his raw self in its palm as he covered Jack's face in slow, soft kisses and murmured, "I love you so much, Jack."

And it didn't matter if Jack said it back, because life cradled him as all of his heightened senses converged, and made him feel safe and sure, no matter what happened to him. Only, Jack looked so very sad that he felt he should say something to help, something to comfort him, to—

"Ianto," said Jack, a sad sigh cracked against Ianto's ear, "You'll want the Retcon in the morning."

Ianto kissed Jack's cheek, wondering if the sentimental tears pricking at his eyes were the ones Jack had warned him about earlier. "No, I won't."

Jack cradled Ianto's face in the softest part of his palm, kissing Ianto's eyes. "It's all right. I'll understand. Really. Trust me."

Ianto gazed into Jack's eyes, wondering at the back of his mind why he didn't seem to care if he looked as soppy as he felt – had he always felt this way around Jack? "Always."

Jack seemed to catch at something in his throat before he kissed Ianto.

Ianto wanted very much to ask Jack again why so sad, but his body was insisting on sleep, and Jack's kisses and caresses were paving the way. He wanted to thank Jack for taking care of him, for sticking by him when he was so overwhelmed by sickness and there was so much else to do after an already hard fortnight. He couldn't even manage the first sound.

As sleep took him, he dreamt hearing, 'I love you, too' as Jack kissed the hinge of his jaw, and wondered for a dizzying second on the brink of oblivion whether telepathy or delusion might be the next stage of the Baljaxian 'flu.

* * *

Ianto awoke wishing that he had died, instead. He didn't want to describe how he felt, especially to himself. He didn't want to touch or interact with anything, or to acknowledge existence of any sort. Even that recognition defeated his purpose and made him want to punch himself, except that that constituted an even stronger relationship with the fact that there was _something_, rather than _nothing_. Were it not for the 'something moving in the dark' that both Suzie and Owen had reported, he'd have violated his resolution to stay away from everything and shot himself on the spot. He was a great aim, so he certainly wouldn't survive, or come back like

Jack.

Jack was gone, thanks be to all that didn't or shouldn't exist. Ianto's profound gratitude for that plunged straight through the quantum tunnel that opened before his abused eyes into mortification. He remembered absolutely everything from the previous day. Every sensation. Every act. Every consequence. Every second of drug-induced sleep during the worst stages of the damned virus opened to him. Every emotion he'd felt himself and experienced from Jack, every word he'd said reared up and cackled at him like a hideous Jack-in-the-box.

Christ!

He'd put Jack in a box. He'd said "I love—"

Sweetheart. He'd called Jack sweetheart. Fucking _sweetheart_!

And meant it.

He catapulted out of bed, leaping away from it as though it had bitten him. He stopped by the rungs of the ladder to steady himself before searching for his gun where Jack had hung his clothes.

It was gone.

"Bastard!" he breathed.

Then, "Shit!"

He bolted for the tiny bathroom just in time to empty his overfull bladder without further fuelling his deadly embarrassment.

Deadly, but not crippling, he decided as he caught sight of himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. He'd find his gun and shoot Jack, and he'd still look damned good doing it. At least the Ball-bloody-JACKsian 'flu hadn't compromised his appearance. That, at least, felt good. Even more so when he focused on killing Jack. A lot. Several times.

Somehow, he managed to shave (even though his hands shook in fresh mortification at the thought that yes, he kept a razor in Jack's manhole), clean his teeth (and a toothbrush), dress (and a suit – or two – and shirts, ties and – bugger it! – pants) and assume a murderous glint (not too hard to do, if he reminded himself that yes, he really, really wanted to shoot Jack) before climbing up the ladder to deal with

Owen, who nearly knocked his head into Ianto's as he started to bend over the hatch. "Steady on, mate," he said, backing away to make room for Ianto. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Ianto finished climbing out and reminded himself that Owen was already dead, and besides, he was just doing his job and had not done anything to annoy Ianto since they got back to the Hub. "Fine, thanks," he lied.

Owen peered at him. "Bit tetchier than usual, and you're moving like a starched board, so I doubt that 'fine' is quite right."

"I can't see through my ears, smell your eyelashes or hear your – Tosh's – blood vessels contracting anymore. Good enough?"

"Any symptoms of your brain exploding? Extra digits on your fingers and toes? Limbs growing where they shouldn't?"

"No," said Ianto, re-evaluating Owen's annoyance factor, "not so far."

"Mood swings?"

Ianto folded his arms and shifted a bit. "Not as such."

"Murderous thoughts?"

"Fair cop."

"That's why they sent me," said Owen. "I'm already dead."

"Yes, I had sussed that one," said Ianto.

"There's a pool out on who you want to kill most," said Owen, brightly.

"You're moving up the list pretty fast," said Ianto, surreptitiously searching for his gun as he stayed rooted in place.

"Better me than Tosh or Gwen," said Owen, giving Ianto a serious look.

Ianto blinked. "I've no intention of killing either of them," he said, surprised by how much he meant that and shamed by his surprise.

"So that leaves, who? Rhys?"

"I could do you real damage," said Ianto, breaking away from his spot near the hatch to search Jack's desk.

"You won't find it in there, mate." Owen's voice was suddenly devoid of sarcasm. Gentle, in a way that made Ianto squirm.

"Won't find what?" Ianto knew the answer.

"Your weapon." The 'twat' really didn't need to be said any louder.

Ianto looked immediately to Jack's coat stand – nothing – and went for the drawer where he knew—

"Or Jack's," said Owen. "No guns, no knives, no bombs, no gas grenades, nothing. Jack's orders. And your clearances are limited to non-lethal technologies. Took us all night to secure everything, so the girls are sleeping it off."

Ianto reeled inside. "Where's Jack?" Given that he'd been trying for menacing, he was quite disappointed by the tremor in his voice.

"Firing range."

"Good choice," growled Ianto.

"Ianto—"

Something about Owen's voice stopped Ianto as he reached the door.

"It was a hard night. Just ... remember that, yeah?" And all of a sudden, Owen looked weary. That wasn't supposed to happen.

Ianto swallowed. "I'll do my best. And Owen?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell me where Tosh and Gwen are."

"No intention of it, mate."

"Thanks."

* * *

"Come on in," said Jack, as Ianto hesitated at the door. "The guns are nice and warm."

Ianto donned ear and eye protection, noting his gun on the table along with seven full clips and a very familiar bottle of pills. "How do you know I won't kill you?"

"I don't." Jack despatched six targets through the heart and turned towards Ianto, hands up and out and Webley held between thumb and forefinger. "But better me than the others. Oh, and you can't get out of here with a weapon." He glanced down at Ianto's gun.

Ianto followed Jack's gaze without question, noting both his annoying trust of the man he really was determined to kill and the little blue flame-like markers now adorning handle, barrel and each clip. "Matches my eyes."

"It was meant to match mine!"

"Yours are grey."

"You noticed. Again."

Ianto rolled his eyes and flicked them at the sensor flashing orange over the door. "Tie-shaped."

"And your least favourite colour. Although it's a hell of a lot cuter on you than green. Which reminds me—"

Ianto lurched for his gun, wishing for a good, old-fashioned Colt .45 purely for the visceral feel of a weapon whose trigger he'd have to squeeze each and every time he pumped a bullet into Jack.

"I was just going to ask if I could put this thing down, yet," said Jack, glancing for emphasis at his Webley.

_Perfect._ "Give it here," said Ianto, abandoning his own Torchwood-branded Smith &amp; Wesson and stretching out his hand.

Jack took the three small, slow steps necessary to hand over the weapon at two arms' length. "I haven't reloaded it, yet." He sounded almost apologetic.

Ianto blinked. "I don't see the ammo," he said, snapping himself into an accusatory glare.

Jack looked at the table, eyes widening. "I thought I'd...." He patted his pockets and relaxed. "Here. I really thought I'd put them out. I meant to, but ... I must've been scared you'd kill me, or something."

Ianto took the ammo box, proud of himself for keeping his hands steady as he put it on the table. "No top-secret, exorbitantly expensive, bespoke speed-loaders, then," he muttered.

"Didn't want to make it too easy," quipped Jack.

Ianto pulled himself together by burying himself in a close examination of the Webley.

"I cleaned it this morning," said Jack, softly.

"Can't be too careful," said Ianto, thumbing open the frame lock and breaking open the weapon. He rolled his eyes as the extractor scattered the spent casings across the table and onto the floor.

"I hate this part," said Jack.

"The part where you clean your gun, or the part where I kill you?" said Ianto, sighting through the empty barrel with a critical (_procrastinating_) eye.

"The part where you're nothing but one, big raw nerve and you remember everything you did, said, thought and felt even when you were unconscious."

Ianto brought the Webley close enough to examine the cylinder chamber by chamber – and the firing pin, and the extractor, and the barrel again – just to be sure that it was truly as clean as could be expected of a recently fired weapon of its age. "So you do understand why I have to kill you, then."

"Completely," said Jack.

Ianto looked up briefly at the bleakness in Jack's voice. "You sound so glum. But you'll just come back in a few, so no harm done. You're right about the gun, by the way. Nice and clean." He reached for the ammo box, keeping Jack in the corner of his eye.

Jack's face shifted through regret, hurt, relief, fear and resignation in a slow blink. "You're going to hate yourself for saying all of that," he said, quietly.

"I couldn't possibly hate myself and every living thing more than I do right now." Ianto extracted five bullets from the box – the .455 cartridges were rare and expensive, and one day, Ianto would also extract from Jack the particulars about how often he travelled back in time to stock up – and began to load them one by one. He failed to extract the sensual pleasure he normally got from doing that for Jack ... whom he was about to kill, of course.

"You'd be surprised," said Jack.

"You're going to tell me a story, aren't you? One that I'd normally die to hear, but which I just can't bear the thought of facing today." And then he tasted blood and realised that he'd bitten his lip open on the 'f'.

"Ianto..."

"All right, I'll put the fucking gun down till I can pick it up without shaking." He laid it on the steel table, furious on every level at the rattle of metal on metal as he did. "My ears hurt."

"And you're embarrassed at everything you've said and done for the past—"

"Shut up."

"No, really. How long?"

"Shut it, Captain."

"_'Captain?'_ Wow! You've never called me that, before."

"Never called you 'sweetheart' before, either," muttered Ianto, flushing crimson before reaching furiously towards the Webley again.

Jack took the extra step to stay Ianto's hand. "Not till you stop shaking, right?"

"Fuck," said Ianto, clutching at the table as he felt his leg muscles starting to shake. He wished he could be in his own home, in his own bed. He wished he had his own home and his own bed.

"Wanna sit down?"

Ianto began to sit, only to fall instead, right into Jack's helpful arms. Well, hands, really, because Jack seemed unusually reticent about physical contact with him and did only what was necessary to ease his landing on the hard floor. "Thanks."

"No problem. You gotta be careful in this stage." Jack sat as well, cross-legged and facing Ianto about a yard away. "Still wanna hear my story?"

"No." _Yes, god damn it!_

Jack looked at him for a moment before shaking his head with a smirk. "Okay, then, you just shoot me if you really meant that."

Ianto glared at him and then gave up, nodding in defeat. _No change there, then._

"The first time was in my first year of training with the Time Agency. An epidemic swept through and hit almost everyone on the base. There was this guy I had a crush on. He flirted with me, too." Jack took on a quiet, wistful smile. "He was gorgeous and everyone wanted him."

"Must've been those fifty-first century pheromones," said Ianto.

"Oh yeah, only he made me smell like an old shoe."

Ianto felt his eyes widen in defiance of his direct order to the contrary. "Not possible," he said, before he could stop himself.

"Thanks," said Jack, with a smile that Ianto couldn't help loving, even now.

"Don't push it," he mumbled.

"So anyway, this guy – Kezai, his name was – he'd had it before and knew what to expect, only it hit me harder than it had him. He was with me when it hit and I freaked out over being able to see through the top of my spine." Jack shivered slightly. "They wouldn't let us sleep through any of it. Said that we had to experience it so we'd know how to cope in the field. He visited me every day in the iso bay. Held my hand, told me stories, told me they should've knocked us out but the Director liked watching everyone suffer. He got me through everything. He was right about the Director, you know. The thing always thought it was—"

"Thing?"

"Proudly anti-sexed, anti-beinged and anti-sensed. Planned to be anti-lifed and anti-named when it was done being Director."

"Ah." Ianto glanced longingly at the Webley.

Jack smirked without mirth. "Anyway, when I got to that hyper sexed stage—"

Ianto twitched with hate and clenched his face into non-expression.

"Kezai was there, and it was ... indescribable." Jack got a faraway look on his face, so wistful that Ianto almost forgot to be angry. "I felt like I'd never loved anyone so much in all my life, or ever would, even if I lived for ever." He huffed slightly, and Ianto couldn't stop a wince. "I told him I loved him so much I'd have his babies. Told him I wanted to live with him forever and ever. Called him – well, all sorts of things that make 'sweetheart' sound like an insult."

"Baby?"

Jack looked up in wide-eyed, sickeningly hopeful response.

Ianto's eyes rolled of their own accord. "Not you!"

Jack shook his head, wincing. Or smirking. Ianto couldn't be quite sure which. "Worse."

"Sugarpie? Honeybunch?"

"Worse. And you weren't alive when that song came out!"

"Didn't bloody have to be, did I?" muttered Ianto. "Snookums?"

"Gettin' closer."

"You called someone 'snookums' and meant it?"

"It was much worse than that, and I meant every last, syrupy word of it." Jack shot a sympathetic look at Ianto before nodding in face-squinched embarrassment.

"Good," said Ianto with gusto.

Jack gave a choked laugh. "He was so sweet to me, so happy with what I said, but sad, somehow. Told me he was falling in love with me, but I should wait a few days to make any plans." He looked down. "I hated life so much the next day. It was like...." He shook his head.

"A hangover of the soul," said Ianto.

Jack looked up, a light in his eyes. "Yes! Why didn't I think of that?"

"You didn't grow up Presbyterian or Welsh. And I'm good at naming things."

"Yeah." Jack smiled at Ianto, more unguarded than he'd been that day.

"Did you kill him?" Ianto felt a bit of a bastard as the words left his lips, which made him hate Jack a bit more.

Jack was silent for a moment. "Yes."

Ianto couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath or the slackening jaw. He also couldn't keep hold of his anger. That left him drained – exposed.

"I didn't pull a trigger," said Jack quietly, "but I might as well have. We fought. I was cruel. I've always been good at that."

"I know."

Jack looked at Ianto as he hadn't since the day of Lisa's final death.

"Jack—"

"Don't!" Jack got up in a whirl, ten feet away before Ianto could blink.

Ianto waited.

"We got attacked," said Jack at last, turning towards Ianto. "The same creatures that—creatures I hope you never meet. Horrible things. Half the cadets were sick, or hating each other. Kezai was one of the best – definitely the best in the field that day. I was trying to avoid him. Watching out for myself and everyone but him." Jack's voice shook. "And then one of them had me in a transport beam 'cause I wasn't looking in the right place. Kezai shoved me away just as the reinforcements got there." He blinked and looked up, away. "He got caught in the crossfire. He was looking right at me when he died. And I couldn't find what I'd felt the night before."

"Did it come back? After he died?"

Jack turned towards Ianto again, after a pause. "No. But the anger went away." He swiped a mask over his face and nodded at the Webley. "Steady enough to finish what you started, yet?"

"Does someone have to die before I stop feeling like ... like...."

"Like you've got the worst hangover in the universe and on top of that you've just told your best friend that you're madly in love with him?"

Ianto's humiliation and anger returned at nearly full force. "Thanks for that."

"I don't think anyone actually has to die, especially since we've got these." Jack rattled the retcon.

"But it'll be quicker if I kill you, right?" _Definitely more fun._ Ianto began to rise and waved off the offered hand.

"I suppose." Jack put down the retcon and wandered off towards the targets, hands behind his back.

Ianto began loading the Webley again, not looking as Jack positioned himself fifteen feet away, in front of the ugliest target. Decidedly not noticing as Jack seemed to broaden his back, making missing a near impossible thing. He finished loading and snapped the weapon closed, resolutely not noticing when Jack's hands clenched, then loosened, then unlocked and fell free. He most certainly didn't notice anything when Jack took too steady a breath and held it just that little bit too long. And he noticed absolutely nothing whatsoever when he cocked the Webley and Jack froze.

"I know you hate me right now, but could you please hurry this up?"

It was that tiny tremor in the satin back of the waistcoat that betrayed Jack and broke Ianto's wall. Terrified gasps of resurrection tore through Ianto's thoughts and chipped away at his resolve. Images of Jack dying – fear, surprise, pain and that terrible resignation in his face – crashed through Ianto's mind.

Pointing the Webley at another target, Ianto uncocked it, returning the hammer to its safer position.

"Ianto, please," said Jack, his voice tense and higher in pitch than usual. "Do you want me to face you?"

Ianto blinked and realised that Jack's sound system must have switched off. He walked up to Jack, making as much noise as he could and circling slightly to try to catch Jack's eye...

...Which was closed. As was the other one.

Ianto waved his hand around a bit. "Jack." He got more into Jack's field of vision and waved his arm wildly. "Jack!"

Nothing.

"Idiot," grumbled Ianto. "Five thousand quid of Her Majesty's funds for twitch-sensitive headsets we only use on the firing range when we could've had supermuffs down the road for fifty each or custom plugs for a hundred. I should kill you just for that. Queen and country." He started to walk up to Jack, but then thought better of it and put the Webley on the arms table, first, muttering at himself for neglecting that safety detail earlier.

"Ianto!"

Ianto stalked away from the table without looking back – the weapons tempted him far too much – and plucked the headphones off Jack's head.

He'd expected Jack to whip around and punch him, which wasn't exactly a pleasant thought but would have given them an opportunity to relieve some tension. He thought he might have preferred that to the strangled silence that greeted him. He definitely would have preferred the gut punch of a fist to that of the guilt he now had to add to his experiences of the last twenty-four hours. "Your sound system was off."

"Oh."

"And you went and closed your eyes."

"Yeah."

"Idiot."

"Do you want to shoot me in the back or the front? Or maybe the head? It hurts most if you—"

Ianto put a hand on Jack's vibrating shoulder. "I'm not going to kill you, Jack. I'm sorry."

"Retcon, then," said Jack, voice and breath calming but still out of order.

Ianto sighed and wrapped his arms around Jack, resting his chin on Jack's shoulder. "In a minute." He gathered a breath. "I meant what I said last night," he said, though the humiliation nearly choked him. "I still mean it."

Jack leant back into Ianto's embrace. "Bet that cost you a lot."

"More than I'll ever admit."

"I meant what I said, too," murmured Jack.

Ianto stiffened. "I only dreamt that. Part of the virus."

Jack took a deep breath and turned, his own arms sliding into their accustomed positions around Ianto. "That's not how the virus works. It gives you hyperawareness, not hallucinations."

"It made you want to be a wife and mother with someone you didn't love."

"Crush, remember? Crushes are serious things."

"But they don't tend to last," said Ianto, pulling back.

Jack gripped Ianto's arms. "I don't have a crush on you."

Ianto swallowed. "I don't think I have one on you, either. Although the sweetheart incident was horrible."

Jack kissed Ianto's forehead, gently. "I don't think I minded it as much as you think I did."

"Oh, Jack," groaned Ianto, resting his forehead against Jack's, exhausted in a very unnatural way. "Is there a retcon formula that can make you forget saying just one fucking word?"

"Not yet," said Jack, "and believe me when I tell you, you don't want to know just how bad things get when there is."

"Just have to deal with the humiliation like normal teenaged girls, I guess. No change there, then."

Jack was rocking from foot to foot, almost a slow dance in Ianto's sleepy mind. "You're not a girl, though you'd make a gorgeous one."

"I'm so tired," said Ianto. "Did you find a way to put retcon in the air?"

Jack kissed him. "No. It's just the emotion wearing off, which means your hormone levels are diminishing and you're about to crash."

"I like the kissing. Keep the kissing," said Ianto.

Jack kissed a line from cheek to lips, hovering a question over Ianto's mouth.

"Make it snogging," said Ianto, just as Jack's mouth closed over his.

The kiss was long and far more perfect than Ianto wanted to admit. He was too tired for concrete, but if they'd been in Jack's bunker, on Jack's bed, he'd be undressed with Jack inside him in a slow, thorough fuck that would make 'sweetheart' all right, or at least irrelevant, and would leave him giddy and sated and blissfully asleep in Jack's arms.

And then Jack moaned into Ianto's mouth and pressed his hardness against Ianto's thigh, and—

A horrible, pinging shriek of a noise boinged through the firing range, breaking them apart as Ianto realised that it hadn't originated there. "What was that?" he asked in horror, still hanging on to Jack.

"I don't know," said Jack, clinging back. "Did you let Myfanwy out before you came down here?"

"No, and she doesn't sound like that."

The noise happened again...

"Jesus," said Jack. "It sounds like—"

...And again.

"A sneeze," they both said.

"Oh, no," said Ianto.

"Oh, yes," countered Jack. "Good thing I kept her isolated, don't you think?"

The noise came again, closely followed by another, with a slightly different timbre – assertive, but not quite so shrill.

"Them," said Ianto, "and we'll still have to make sure Owen doesn't do a runner." He started to pull away.

Jack held him there. "Are we all right, Ianto?"

Ianto scoffed. "I was about to suggest that you take me upstairs to your hole and fuck me into oblivion, so yeah, I'd say we were ... we're more than just okay, Jack. Especially if we pick this up where we left off. As soon as possible after—"

Jack devoured Ianto's mouth again, drawing him in almost to the point where he could forget the hyper-sneezes invading their time together.

It was Tosh first, this time, followed by a bellowed ping from Gwen.

"I've an idea," said Ianto, murderously. "Let's let Owen take care of them both, now he's seen the protocol. _Most_ of the protocol," he amended.

"Sounds good to me," said Jack.

"Although he won't be able to shag them at the appropriate moment," said Ianto, enjoying the idea of that predicament a little too much, even for his current mood.

Jack shrugged. "They'll have each other."

Ianto's blood rushed to his groin. "We'll have to make sure the CCTV's working properly."

Jack's eyes widened. "Why, Ianto Jones.... Race you!"


End file.
